


Poise

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slice of Life, imposter syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 09:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Ignis knew that he had not been born with the advantages of Lucian nobility. But he had earned his place, and he intended to keep it. For Noctis' sake.





	Poise

Ignis realised early that he was at a disadvantage among his friends. His only friends, placed together by design and machinations he had been too young to understand. He remembered that there had been tests and preparations— in a manner of fashion— that had separated him from other ‘applicants’. There had been the children of the nobility he had met briefly throughout the Citadel, the first impressions made as they gathered together in the sitting room. As they sat and talked and played together, he felt that he was the only one so acutely aware of the throne room beyond the heavy doors. 

Those heavy doors where their parents and guardians had disappeared beyond what seemed like hours ago. 

He had realised later, looking back on the events that led him to Noctis’ side, that someone else had fought for him to be there. 

“Noctis, please.”

Gladio had the confidence and ease of someone born to his position. The broad shoulders of the Shield who could never be unseated from his role except by Etro herself. He carried himself however he wished, and Ignis had envied him the security when he had understood it. 

“In a minute, Specs.”

Ignis knew that he had started in a more precarious position. That he walked a finer edge. He could be unseated from Noctis’ side with the right rumour, the right word, the right mood at any point. No matter his academic excellence, his prowess in the training rooms, his drive to be anything and everything the Crown would require of him— to fill the gaps left by the Shield— there would always be others waiting for him to stumble. He had counted at least twenty other children in that waiting room when he was only five. 

He had no doubt that the Council’s eye would wander across to Altissia or Tenebrae, or Cavaugh or Galahd, for a replacement should he be deemed unworthy of the Prince’s friendship. 

“Noct, if you don’t hurry—”

“You’ll what, Iggy?” Noctis’ grin was worth the uncertainty. “Scold me?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

That smile was worth far more than the kingdom now. 

And Ignis was clever. 

The King’s love for his son had protected his position before. Had guarded his friendship with Noctis during the missteps of youth. Ignis learnt to be better for the King. To carry himself with the poise of nobility he wasn’t quite born into— just a few rungs down from the great houses of Lucis, and a few up from the staff and Guards and administrators who managed the desks and gifts shops in the Citadel tours.

And he agreed to be trained, however the King would wish. 

Noctis smiled at him, with the ease of the close friends they were. Ignis cherished the looks of recognition, the brightness in Noctis’ eyes and the ease in their company. He cherished the smiles and laughs and calm days, the exasperation mirrored between them as Ignis attempted to herd his friend, his Prince, to some meeting or duty or another. 

When they were young, the King protected them. 

As they grew, Ignis protected himself. No member of Council was above reproach, and Ignis had been trained to understand secrets. 

He refused to be moved from Noctis’ side. Unless Noctis himself asked it. 

“Fine, fine,” Noctis took the offered tie of choice and rolled his eyes. “Don’t want you getting into trouble.”

“Much appreciated, Highness,” Ignis discarded the rejected material and smiled as Noctis finished his final preparations, their eyes meeting in the mirror of Noctis’ room. “Dashing as always, Noct.”

“Don’t start, Specs.”

“Or?”

“Or we’ll never leave this room.”

Ignis would protect Noctis, and what he had with Noctis. Every smile and blush, and flustered gasp shared in the quiet moments between them. Even if he felt like a pretender to his role in the meeting rooms and conference halls of the Citadel— even if that role had been practised and earned and held tight through the years— Ignis would fight for it. 

He couldn’t dream of being apart from Noctis now. Of leaving his Prince to the Citadel alone. 

“Perhaps after,” Ignis offered his own smile to Noctis as pale hands moved over the black silk of the tie. “you may need a reminder of your position?”

“How do you make that sound so filthy?”

“Practice, Noct. Come along, now.”

Ignis knew that he was not deemed worthy by the Council for his role. He was not nobility to their standards. He was not a relation of the royal family, or from a strong line of military supporters. 

But he was Noctis’. And that was more than enough to keep him fighting to remain.


End file.
